Requiem
by lmaolevi
Summary: Alfred F. Jones: star quarterback, with a supportive family and great friends; at least when they aren't partying and getting high. Alfred thinks the habit is harmless, until making a bad deal, losing people he loves, and meeting someone else makes him realize the problem.
1. Prologue

_Through pride we are ever deceiving ourselves. But deep down below the surface of the average conscience a still, small voice says to us, something is out of tune. - Carl Jung  
_

Content advisory for: drug abuse (seriously, this is the crux of the entire plot), slight homophobia, dub-con and sexual situations, language, highschool AU, physiological instability, and slight unreliable narration.

There were three men at one point, though "men" may be overstating things slightly, and they had declared themselves the three most awesome people to grace the world with their being: Alfred F. Jones, Gilbert Beilschmidt, and Mathias Køhler. This so-called "Awesome Trio" was, if it wasn't clear enough from the name, a particularly dangerous amalgamation of stupidity, pride, audacity, and impatience, and the general lack of common sense they shared was helping nothing.

It shouldn't be surprising that this led to problems, though the three of them were in a fierce debate over just when the _drugs_ started being an issue: Alfred thought it was when they got into so much debt that they had to go under-the-table to make their money; Mathias thought it was when they started taking the drugs outside of parties; Gilbert thought the issues started when they started branching out into different drugs. These were just opinions though, and it would in all honesty be a much more correct assessment to claim that it was the partying that started the problems, but ego can be just as dangerous as any drug.

It was the end of their Junior year of high school, 11th grade. Mathias would always throw parties at his house at times like these: after graduation, after exams, after his parents leave and he just couldn't stand how quiet everything was when there's no-one else there. He had sent out a message to just about everyone he knew, and just about everyone showed up at his house, because Mathias was widely regarded among their peers as being some sort of patron saint of drunken high school parties. When Alfred walked in, he wondered just how many people were there and just how they had changed the house so much.

Most of the lights in the house were off except in the living room and the kitchen. Loud music was blaring from some source, though it wasn't exactly clear what or where that source was, not that it was stopping anyone from making fools of themselves in the living room to the beat of a particularly grating dubstep song. All of the furniture had been pushed against the walls making room for these dancing fools, and a few girls just sat on the couches watching the show and judging them like it was a serious competition.

Alfred had no interest in this, at least not yet, and walked into the kitchen. The kitchen greeted him with an even more foolish sight. This is where Gilbert and Mathias had been, pouring beers into a large plastic tub with great fervor. Empty cans, kicked around by the party-goers lazily milling around the kitchen, littered the floor, as well as several bottles of vodka. The tub itself was one of the cheap red containers one could get at a store for maybe twenty dollars and would only hold a couple gallons, but when it came to wild-and-vaguely-illegal parties and containers which would hold a mixture of what was ostensibly alcohol, the shoddy little tub was second only to a plastic trash can as the container of choice.

Mathias looked up to see Alfred and smiled. "Eh, Al, you did come! I was worried you'd puss out like last time and leave me and Gil to do some hard drinking by ourselves."

"Dude, I just skipped out last time was because of football practice. You know, I actually want to stay on the team. Besides, I had to go get you guys a present." Alfred threw a brown plastic bag over to the Dane, who poured the contents out onto the table: twenty-or-so packets of lemonade powder mix.

"Alright!" The Dane cheered, "now we've got a real drink right here." He tore the packets open and dumped them into the alcoholic concoction a handful at a time.

Gilbert glared. "Why would you ruin perfectly good beer like that? Now it's going to taste like lemons and beer, do you even know how gross that is? You losers _disgust_ me with this."

"Whatever dude," Alfred shrugged, "I just got what Mathias told me to get."

Gilbert rolled his eyes and muttered "whatever," clearly unimpressed with his 'loser' friends. He grabbed one of the few beers that hadn't been used in Mathias's lemony abomination, and cracked it open. He took a sip, and immediately did a spit take. "What? What is this _Schieße_?"

"What?" Mathias asked.

"This is the worst - literally the worst - beer I have ever had! _Mein. Gott. _What sort of beer is this? Is it American beer? I told you to go and get some German beer." Gilbert seemed to take the awful beer as a personal insult to his massive and incredibly German ego.

"Listen, that's expensive, and I'm just a broke little Danish boy trying to make his way in the world. I can't just go get your fancy German beer, princess." Mathias began stirring the drink, which was easily one of the worst looking things man had ever brewed.

"Man, don't pull that crap with me, we all know it's not like you're buying this crap at a regular store." Gilbert took another sip of the beer with great contempt. "If you get some damn beer, you better get some good beer or you just don't bother. I wouldn't even call this dishwater."

"I just came a good time, and I'm feeling so attacked right now," Mathias feigned insult from his friend's words, but this wasn't anything new for them. This was something that happened at more-or-less every party that they were together at. Mathias would get some beer from some shady dealer unscrupulous enough to sell to some hard partying teens, and Gilbert and Alfred would complain about how bad it was. The fact that they were far too young to be getting drunk wasn't an issue; it was more of a game to them than anything else. See how much they could get without getting caught, it was so terribly exciting of a game, and the risks were not a deterrent but rather the main attraction; I suppose I should reinforce that the Awesome Trio was not formed based on intellectual ability.

Alfred and Gilbert didn't know where their friend got the booze, with the fact that they got plastered first and asked questions later being largely at fault for this. All Mathias had thought was important enough to tell them was that he knew a guy who ran a store across town, and didn't have a problem with selling to anyone who could pay. They would later learn that 'payment' did not necessarily mean 'cash,' but this was long before that point.

Gilbert finished off the first of the cheapest beer that money could regret buying, and cracked open a second. The other two looked at him completely flummoxed. "What is your problem dude?" Alfred asked.

"What?" Gilbert couldn't see what the problem was.

"You're having another?" Alfred asked. "You just said it was literally the worst thing you had ever had."

"Listen Al, I'm a German, and if I'm partying, it's not a party without beer," the albino smiled, the effects of the drink starting to set in, "even if the beer tastes like liquid suffering." The last phrase was tinged with a bitterness and Gilbert glanced at Mathias.

The Dane rolled his eyes and said, "well, listen, I know this beer is piss, but my guy ran out of the good stuff so he just gave me this and threw in some other stuff for free. That's why we needed the lemonade, so it tastes less like death." Mathias dipped a cup into the mix and took a sip, trying with great effort not to gag. "Ugh, now it only tastes like lemon death."

"Let me try!" Alfred, annoyed with being left out of the hard drinking, grabbed his own cup and got some of the drink. 'Lemon death' was, in addition to sounding like the name of a band, a rather accurate description of the taste: sour, with a slightly metallic taste to it, a hint of noxious chemicals and an acidic aftertaste. It was clearly an offensively poor quality beer. Alfred looked at his drink with a blank face and said, "I think this made me die on the inside."

"Well yeah, American Dreamboy, we said that." Gilbert said as he finished off the second beer. "Why would you drink it when everyone was saying it wasn't awesome?"

Alfred shrugged. "If you dudes are partying hard, of course I'm going to party too. I'm some kind of hero, I'm not going to be the buzzkill of the Awesome Trio."

Gilbert grabbed yet another beer, looking like he was regretting every second of his life up until that point, when he looked like he had a sudden revelation and turned to Mathias. "Hold on, what 'other stuff' did you get from your guy? And why is it more important than my beer?" Gilbert demanded, being an unstable combination of annoyed, drunk, and German.

Mathias just laughed and said, "alright, listen, remind me later when the party starts to die and I'll show you guys. For now, who's going bet the you can't drink more of this stuff than me?"

The Awesome Trio spent the course of the next two hours getting wasted. They didn't drink for the entire two hours, because the drinks were so bad that they had to take short breaks. A group of party-goers amassed around them and started putting bets on who would win their contest, because listening to the drunken insults they were passing around was magnitudes more fun than actually getting any drinks.

Eventually, it became clear that Gilbert would be the winner; Alfred felt too sick to drink anything else, and Mathias only stopped when he was halfway to alcohol poisoning. This upset many of the betters, because Alfred, being the cute American football star, was a favorite to win, while the scary Albino German who looks like he would molest someone wasn't the top choice. Of course, the school's top gamblers managed to walk away richer, because anyone who attended enough of these parties knew that Gilbert was the only one who could even almost hold his liquor out of the trio.

"I laugh at your weak American beers!" Gilbert laughed the most unnatural laugh he could manage, clearly and intensely plastered from the drinks. "_Mein Deutsch _blood gives me the awesome advantage over you losers. So suck it losers, _mein_ awesome ancestors in _Preußen _are smiling at me right now."

"Dude, isn't that place super dead or something now?" Alfred could barely sit up straight with how drunk he was when he asked.

"Whatever, they're with me in my soul. That's why I won, you know. A toast, to the awesome Prussians." Gilbert tried to toast the ghost of a dead country, which amused the remaining crowd in the kitchen.

"Dude, these guys are the best." "Man this party was so hype!" "Yeah, I'm seriously coming to the next one." "I have to go, my mom will yell at me if I break curfew. Again." "I can't believe they actually drank all that crap! Did you see how gross it looked?" "I just lost so much money but it was totally worth it." "I told you man, bet on the Germans. They're crazy."

The party goers started filling out of the house. They didn't see much reason to stay after the contest was over and the main partiers could barely stand. As everyone started leaving, the clock in the kitchen read 11:28 PM. Mathias looked a little disappointed by this. "Damn, I really wanted to party until Midnight."

"Weren't you going to show us something great after everyone left? Or... something?" Alfred asked, getting up while leaning heavily against the table.

"Yeah, yeah, something better than _mein Deutsch_ beer, or whatever you said. I don't believe you, so you better go and show us!" Gilbert said, words slurring together as he spoke.

Mathias waved it off. "Right, right, I'll show you. Come on, to the viking cave."

By this, he was referring to his room. Three incredibly drunk idiots, started racing each other upstairs, tripping over their own feet as well as each other and leaning heavily on anything they could. It would of been an amusing sight to see if what would follow wasn't so dire. At the apex of the stairs, however their path was barricaded; blocked off by an annoyed blonde man with a curl that stuck out in an odd way, his arms folded across his chest.

"Are you idiots done partying? Mathias, you know I hate these kinds of things. I'm just here to kick everyone out before the cops show up and arrest you." His words had a heavy Norwegian accent to them, and his glare was focused on Mathias in particular.

"Oh, Lukas, hey. I didn't know you were even here." Mathias, oblivious as ever, completely ignored the icy glared being leveled at him. Lukas was always mad at him for something or another thing, so it's not like the glare meant all that much anymore. Despite this, Lukas would never leave Mathias alone, probably because he did stupid things whenever he wasn't under direct supervision.

The Norwegian's eye twitched a little, and replied, "I was upstairs, because it was away from people, and it was quiet. I really hate that song you had playing in the living room." Lukas shoved his way past the trio and started walking down the stairs before he turned and asked, "how much did you guys drink? It smells like alcohol in the whole house now. I'm leaving, so you drunks better not do anything stupid. And don't call me when you wake up in the morning with a hangover. I'm sick of dealing with that crap, so I'm not going to pick up the phone."

"Alright, later Lukas." Mathias said, ignoring every word his friend had told him. Which was fairly normal, meaning that Mathias would call him in the morning about his hangover, and Lukas would respond by not picking up the phone. It was a little routine they had worked out. Maybe if Lukas hadn't of left the three of them alone them that night, they wouldn't of gotten as ensnared in trouble as they had. The drunk three continued to Mathias's room as the front door was opened and then violently slammed shut.

Gilbert laughed. "Wow Mathias, you really made your little wife mad tonight."

"You know he's just my really angry friend." Mathias defended, as he got down and began groping around under his bed for something.

"Psh, yeah right. " Gilbert waved his protests off with a haphazard hand gesture. "We all know that I'm the only one of us who's straight."

"What?" Alfred turned and there was a dull _thud_ from under the bed as Mathias hit his head.

Gilbert scoffed. "Yeah, you guys are all super gay, getting all the boys. Not me though, I'm straight."

Alfred gave his friend little look of confusion. "Hey, I get why you'd call Mathias gay, but what did I ever do? Dude, I have a girlfriend, and you don't," Alfred protested, referring to the girl, a cheerleader named Katyusha, whom he had been dating for a few months now.

"Yeah, right," Gilbert said disbelievingly, throwing himself onto Mathias's bed dramatically, to the dismay of the Dane, "she's just your cover. Everyone knows that guys are always chasing after you, remember freshman year? I heard that one guy was so sad that you went with a girl to prom, that he left the country! And I bet that you're the one out of the three of us who'd be the most likely to take it from the back. Besides, I don't need a girlfriend, I have too much fun being alone to have to deal with some whiny bitch all the time." He claimed, lying bitterly.

Finally, Mathias emerged from under the bed holding a crumpled-up paper bag. "Alright guys," he smiled, "I talked to my guy, and he got me something a bit harder than just booze." He reached into the bag and pulled out three white tablets.

"Dude, is that what I think it is?" Alfred looked at the tablets in disbelief, to which Mathias responded with a nod. Ecstasy; one of the most infamous party drugs. "I'm not sure this is a good idea, man; that stuff is supposed to be pretty strong."

"I don't know, if your guy's Molly is as weak as his liquor, then I'm out. The party was super not awesome, so this better as Hell make up for it." Gilbert said skeptically.

Mathias looked almost offended with his friends' comments. "The party was great, because I don't do lame parties. Listen, I just got these as a sort of 'free sample' with the beer, so I thought I would be nice, but I can just-"

"Wait," Gilbert interrupted, "if it was free, then I want some. Come on, come on!" He started grabbing drunkenly at his friend.

Alfred looked them for a moment and then shrugged. Maybe if the three of them hadn't of been so wasted at the time, then maybe they wouldn't have made such poor choices that night. "Sure, why the Hell not? I mean, it _is_ a party..."

FrauWolf - The lesson of this is to drink responsibly, kids. This lesson occurs throughout the entire story. Only replace 'drink' with 'do various illegal drugs' and 'responsibly' with 'preferably never.' If the fact the authors note and the account this is posted under weren't a tip-off, this is a collaborative work between me, FrauWolf, and the publisher, Lmaolevi. I actually got upgraded from editor to co-writer for this one, so the prologue and some of the chapter will be written by me, while others will be written by Lmaolevi. We'll probably tell you who wrote what at the end of the chapter, but it gets a little obvious with the vastly different writings styles between the two of us; Lmaolevi is notable for her lovely descriptive writing, and I'm more notable for my use of a dictionary to find the biggest words I can think of and mountains of snark. The title of this story, 'Requiem,' is a reference to a movie titled,'Requiem for a dream,' and the titles of the upcoming chapters will also be references to various things. Now for an explanation of some things I mentioned in this chapter: the mention of the 'plastic trash can' for brewing drinks is based on what an acquaintance told me they did at parties when she was in college, so that isn't exactly made up; the lemonade-beer-vodka drink they made is something called 'skippy' that I heard about and put it in because I figured that the characters would actually make it; the reason Gilbert talks so much crap about the American beer is because I actually looked up the worst beer and it was apparently an American beer, but ironically a German friend of mine said that the worst beer she had ever tried was British so /shot; also, I put a lot of foreshadowing in this prologue and will put more in later chapters, so this story is probably going to be one of those that you read it and go, 'alright, my life is ruined now' and then you reread it and go, 'wow, this is way worse now.' Also, despite my sarcasm and constant insults in the narration, I'm the nice one of us two, and Lmaolevi is actually a really mean person, so sorry, try not to take too much offence to her.

Lmaolevi - Firstly, welcome to our story 'Requiem', where we hope to have your feelings crushed yet learn a good lesson. This fanfic, we do hope, is unlike many out there; this actually has a completely written out plot-line that complies to not only one or two characters, but most that are mentioned. FrauWolf and I have both discussed the things we dislike in fanfics; most of our complaints pertaining to it having a basic plotline, mostly being shipping based, and every character being homosexual just to please their 'otps'. (This isn't only our issue, we researched things that bothered other readers and wanted to fit their needs into the story.) Mind you, we've thought our story through; we have a complete notebook used for the sole purpose of this story, and we're trying to get a point across. We believe that stories should have their own 'complex simplicity' in their own way, and I do hope that'll come across throughout the story. This story isn't just based on England and America and their own issues; we wanted to include the others and show what's happening with them. ^^ There'll be a few ships sort of 'implied', but a-lot of popular Hetalia ships won't be included, so, yeah. So, there really isn't going to be a regularly scheduled time for us uploading and updating new chapters; we have personal lives and we upload whenever we feel like because that's just how we roll, dudes. It's a hobby and we don't get paid, because we really don't have any obligation to. Anyway, enjoy... or not, it's not like it's my issue to serve the sole purpose of pleasing you.


	2. I - A Stereotypical First Day

It's one thing to wake up on the wrong side of the bed.

It's another to wake up on the floor-well, halfway, that is.

That was the situation Alfred F. Jones had put himself into… unconsciously, of course. His (rather patriotic) red, white and blue sheets were tangled messily across the bed, wrapping themselves around his legs like a cocoon. From the waist down he was still on the bed, but from the waist up he was laying across the carpeted floor. Mouth agape, a small pool of drool was next to him as he snored heavily, cuddling a red-and-white striped pillow. The sight would've been odd for anyone except his family and a few close friends, since they've all come to realize that he was a rather… rough sleeper.

A shrill ringing came from his phone, inconveniently placed on his dark oak bedside table. Groaning at the sound, he turned his head and looked up, trying to make out the dark outline of his table. He couldn't; his vision was absolutely terrible, so he knew trying was pointless. (Plus it was dark in the room, so he _really _couldn't see anything.) He didn't see the point in putting so much effort in trying to reach his phone, so he turned his head and laid it on the striped pillow and tried to fall back asleep, to no avail. His phone still shrilled like an annoying bell, and he knew it would keep going unless he turned it off.

Alfred slowly made his way from his awkward position, sucking a breath through his teeth at the slight pain he felt in his torso. He got up on his knees and waddled over to his phone, momentarily blinded by the bright screen as he turned off his alarm he _had _set for 6:00; at the time he turned it off, however, it was almost 6:30. He sighed in nonchalance and placed his hands on his table and pushed himself up, yawning. Alfred always managed to be tired, no matter how many hours of sleep he managed to get. (During the summer he slept almost ten hours-that was if he wasn't on his 'high'. If that was the case, he stayed up for hours and hours on end. He had then recently realized how much he had screwed up his sleep schedule.)

He lazily walked out of his dark bedroom as he slipped his phone into a pocket of his grey sweatpants. They hung loosely from his hips-almost too long for his legs-as he made his way down the staircase, almost tripping on the second to last step down. After he checked around to make sure no one saw his act of clumsiness, he made his way to the kitchen where delicious aromas were coming from. And he was right. His eyes widened at the huge breakfast his 'Mom' had cooked for he and his brother, ranging from warm buttermilk biscuits to-almost-burnt sausages. (Even if he couldn't see what she had made, he could smell it just fine.) Completely ignoring the other two in the kitchen, he grabbed a plate a piled it high with food. He happily made his way to the table and sat down, his plate before him. One hand held a fork and the other a knife as he set his arms on either side of his plate. But before he could start digging in, his fork was removed from his grip and he frowned. He was about to whine at the person who took his silverware, but when he looked up he saw his 'Mom'.

Well, it wasn't really his Mom; his Mom was long and gone, in Texas when he last checked. His Mom cheated on his Dad, so it was Alfred and his Dad for a while; that's until Alfred's Dad married Matthew's Mom and they moved in with each other. That was a while ago though; Alfred and Matthew were seven at the time. But still, he came to love this woman like she was his own Mother. Alfred frowned and squinted at her, mostly because he literally couldn't make out any of her facial features. "Mom!" he began, and lifted his arm out and to her direction to try and grab the fork from her. She simply lifted it higher above her head and gave him a look of disapproval. "Alfred, how many times-"

Alfred groaned and waved his arm as he tried to reach the fork-he really only could make out a grey blob-she had in her hand. "Ma, it's too early for this!" he whined, as she shook her head. "Firstly, what have I told you about clothing at the table?"

He sighed, lowered his arm and turned his body to her. "To wear a shirt… and pants…" well, he was already breaking that one; he wasn't wearing a shirt-but it could be that or no pants, so he didn't see why she was making such a big deal.

"And what about your glasses?"

He huffed and crossed his arms. "To wear them at all times-hey, Mattie's not wearing his glasses!" he pointed to his blond brother, who was quietly reading the French textbook he had borrowed from the public library.

Matthew looked up, slightly startled from being interrupted. "Alfred, I am wearing my glasses… besides, my vision isn't half as bad as yours is, remember?" Alfred simply waved him off, "psh, same difference."

"In this context, it isn't. I mean, we both wouldn't see well without our glasses, but I don't think you're using that oxymoron cor-" Matthew was cut off from his rambling by Alfred who had thrown a grape-conveniently place in a fruit bowl ahead of him-at his head. Alfred laughed loudly at him, and Matthew blushed and lifted his heavy textbook in front of his face. Their Mother sighed at their childish antics and flicked Alfred on the back of his head. "Stop being mean to your older brother and eat." She handed him the fork which Alfred happily took and began to stuff his face. After a few seconds he realized what she said and he furrowed his eyebrows.

"What the heck, Ma!" he managed to say with his mouth full of food. "He's only like... "

"-three," his brother added quietly, but loud enough for Alfred to catch. "Right, three days older than me!"

"And?" his Mom didn't turn her attention away from putting some food away in it's appropriate location. After eating a few forkfuls of food, he began to complain again. "_And _that means there's really no need to say that because were basically the same age!"

"Alfie, stop talking with your mouth open, it's not appealing," his mom nagged, making Alfred chew quicker and swallow his mouthful. "Secondly, I'm your Mother so I can say what I please. Now eat before you can't make yourself look nice; I'm taking a picture of you two for my scrapbook before you leave."

Alfred almost slammed his head into his plate. His Mom had a big thing for taking pictures of everything they did, which got pretty annoying to them. (Well, it annoyed Alfred more than Matthew.) He knew those embarrassing pictures would bite him in the butt if he brought a girl home… and it did. "Mom!" he dragged out her name to prove his annoyance as he pushed his, now clean, plate away from him. "Again with the scrapbook?"

He stood up from his chair and dragged his feet on the floor as he made his way to their refrigerator. Many photographs, drawings, and a calendar heavily marked decorated the fridge, but Alfred didn't pay much mind to it as he gripped the handle and pulled it open. The sudden coldness sent shivers down his spine as he stuck his head in the space and looked for a certain cool beverage… milk! After finding it, he unscrewed the cap and gulped it down, but was stopped when his Mom slapped his (muscular) forearm making him choke on the cool liquid. "Alfred!" she grabbed the now empty carton from him. "Stop drinking from the carton! How many times do I have to tell you?"

"Mom, come on, it was like-_just _about to be empty!" he said, trying to make an excuse for his behavior. He then smiled boyishly at her and kissed her cheek, "Gotta go and make myself look good!" he called, as he ran up the stairs and almost fell on his face-again. He heard his Mother's giggles and he smiled to himself; it gave him a warm, fuzzy feeling when he made his Mom happy... or anyone, really.

He ran up the stairs-again, almost tripping-and walked into his dark bedroom, and moved his hand up and down the wall for the light switch. After a few seconds of trying to find it, he did, and turned it on. Smiling smugly, he shut the door behind him, locked it, and then made a bee-line to a specific drawer at his dark oak desk. Before he opened it, however, he decided it would be best if he got ready before 'shooting up for the day'.

Alfred eventually got himself ready in about five minutes. He put on a pair of fitting dark jeans, a random white t-shirt-which may or may not have been dirty-which was decorated with the name of a marathon he had competed in, and his beaten-up black converse. (He decided he looked nice, but he knew his mother would say something else.) He pulled out his oh-so-lucky brown bomber jacket he had gotten from his dad, which he wore almost all the time. It was decorated with his football jersey number (good ol' #50), an airplane-since he liked to travel-and a star because... well, Alfred never really understood the meaning of the star; he found it to be cool and left it at that. He brushed his teeth and combed his hair (his weird cowlick staying up as usual) and made himself look and smell presentable.

Alfred smiled to himself in his mirror, fixing a few strands of his blond hair which looked weirdly out of place. Once satisfied, he put on his glasses and picked up his phone from the floor-it fell out of his sweats pocket-and turned on his phone. His lock screen was of himself and his sweet girlfriend, Katyusha. He had been dating the Ukrainian for about seven months, and he felt extremely happy with her. Tapping the appropriate numbers for his password, he clicked on his message app and then on his conversation with Katyusha, her name on his phone being 'Kat '. He quickly typed, "good morning, beautiful" with a cute emoji he knew she loved and sent it to her. Sighing, he stuffed his phone in his front pocket and walked over to his desk to finally 'shoot up' for the day.

After pulling it open, he double checked the door to make sure it was locked, and the blinds shut as well. He couldn't let anyone see what he was up to. It would literally be the death of him. After checking around he went back to his drawer and pulled out a new needle, a long piece of rubber, and the sealed bag which contained his drug of choice; methamphetamine, a.k.a, speed. Alfred never fully understood why he chose this drug of all choices; he figured it was because of the high it gave him. It was nothing compared to some blunt he smoked at one of Mathias' huge parties. (He practically choked when trying to smoke it, so smoking, after that incident, became a no-no.) Alfred was always amazed by the high he got on the drug; it was the only sole reason he continued to abuse the drug.

He sat on the floor, his back pressed to the wall, as he began to start the 'process' of taking the drug. He firstly open the sealed zip-block and placed it on the floor, before putting his attention to the sterile needle he had randomly taken from the enormous stack he'd accumulated in his desk drawer. He took the cover off the needles tip, carefully putting it next to the open zip-block bag. He gingerly filled the syringe to a certain number-one he knew he wouldn't become completely disoriented on-and set the now filled syringe carefully besides him. He zipped the zip-block, put it back in the desk drawer, and sat back down again. Alfred carefully tied the long piece of rubber around his upper arm, only tight enough so a blue vein popped up. He picked up the syringe, flicked the needles tip, and injected himself, the drug now beginning to rush through his bloodstream. He sat there for a few minutes, impatiently waiting for the high to kick in.

And when it did... he couldn't describe how good he felt at that moment.

He smiled to himself, eyes half lidded as he began to feel the effects of the drug kicking in. Childishly, he placed a hand to his heart and laughed to himself as he felt his heart begin to beat faster than usual. He sat dazed on the floor for a few minutes, his attention completely on a mechanical pencil on the ground, only to be interrupted by a sudden few knocks on the door. "Alfie? Come downstairs! You need to take a picture with your brother before you two leave!" her voice frightened Alfred, and he banged his head in the wall behind him. Muttering under his breath, he quickly undid the tight band on his arm, pulled open his desk drawer and stuffed the rubber band before he slammed it shut. His feet misled him and he almost ran into his door when he tried to throw away his used needle; he laughed loudly at himself. After he did, he somehow managed to put on his jacket and his backpack, turned off his light, and made his way downstairs.

Their front door was open and Alfred walked through the door to see his brother and mother standing on the front porch. His mother had changed from her pajamas and was dressed in a pair of black slacks, a light blue Polo and a white cardigan. He stepped around her and sat his backpack down by her feet. She pushed Alfred next to his brother and flicked his temple, "Where were you? I told you to come down early and you-"

"-didn't, yeah, I know... sorry, Ma." Before she could accept his apology, he cut her off again. "But, in my defense, I had to make myself look nice for the first day of school, so..."

She was taken back by his defensive manner, but didn't pay much mind to it. She frowned but pulled out her small camera and took a few big steps back. "Okay now Mattie, put your arm around Alfie's shoulder-no, stop trying to 'noogie' your brother, Alfred! Stop!" eventually they managed to stop their brotherly fighting and got into the position their mother liked. Matthew was smiling shyly at the camera lens, while Alfred on the other hand kept his gaze on the light glistening off their mothers ID badge. She had it clipped to a belt loop near the front of her slacks, and for some reason, Alfred had a very keen interest on it. Something about the light shining and bouncing off the plastic covering made him so amazed that his full attention was put on it. "Alfred? What are you staring at, honey?"

He furrowed his eyebrows, a sign that he heard her, but made no obvious display that he was going to answer. The one object just distracted him so much that he seemed to block all else out. Their Mother sighed and lowered the camera, "Alfred! What in the world are you staring at?"

As if snapped out of a daze, he looked up with a confused expression on his face; his bright blue eyes half lidded and his mouth curled into an uncharacteristic frown. "Huh?"

"You were staring at something," she said simply and crossed her arms. "Are you going to tell me what it was or not?"

"Hey, um, did you change your picture? Because before your picture had you when your hair was cut to a bob style, you know like those girls in the 20's or whatever, and now it's when your hair's longer... oh, and your hair used to be darker in the old picture but it isn't now and I'm just really confused about it all and-" Alfred's rant was cut short by his Mom, who now stood before him. Her look was filled with concern, as she quickly looked over her son. She cupped his face and spoke in a soft tone. "Alfie? Are you alright?"

He raised his eyebrows and grinned at her. "Of course I am, why wouldn't I be?" he patted his mom's hair and laughed lightly. "You just worry too much, is all!"

With his rant and sudden mood change, he left his mother utterly confused. She decided to not question him, and stood back in her normal position and took their picture. Alfred's arm was around his brother as he smiled widely, his other arm bent at the elbow as he gave a big thumbs up. Matthew just smiled and had his hands interlocked, mostly because of Alfred. The brothers grabbed their backpacks, kissed their mothers cheek, and we're finally off for school.

The drive, at first, was rather uneventful. Matthew kept quiet, his attention being on the road ahead of him, like the driver great driver he was. Alfred, on the other hand, was muttering nonsense to himself, his index finger tapping rapidly in a beat on his leg. With his jaw clenched, Matthew decided it would be best to leave him al0ne; he realized that Alfred's temper and mood swings had been rather erratic lately, and didn't want to make a wrong move. Matthew eased his foot off the gas pedal as he realized the light ahead was one known as a 'stale green light'. He stopped at the appropriate line, and looked to either side to see the two lanes next to him were also going straight. After realizing how many cars were passing theirs who were stuck at a red, he realized that they would be there a while.

He glanced at the car to his left and realized that he recognized them; one was a friend of Alfred, Mathias Khøler, and the other was a friend of Mathias, named Lukas Bondevik. Shrugging to himself, he didn't pay much mind to them and put his attention back to the traffic lights. But after Alfred realized who they were, he began to worry Matthew.

He leaned over Matthew and smashed the button that lowered the window, resulting in the horn to blast. Matthew jumped in his seat at the sound, eyes wide as he realized his brother was half across his lap, and almost hanging out the window. Suddenly, Alfred unbuckled his seatbelt, leaned across Matthew, and hung himself out the window. Literally.

Matthew squeaked in surprise and lifted his hands from Alfred, who was now knocking on the window of the raggedy-old-car-with-a-bad-blue-paint-job. Mathias, looking completely tired and sad, looked over to see one of his best friends smiling like an idiot in front of his car window. He smiled back and put the window down, before leaning out the window as well. Matthew tried to calmly persuade his brother into sitting back in the passenger seat; it was a different story in the other car.

Mathias, to put this simply, was being driven by Lukas Bondevik to school. Firstly, Lukas hadn't finished his cup of plain black coffee, which sat steaming in a cup holder between the two, and secondly, he really wasn't a morning person. His right eye twitched and he glared at Mathias, who was happily chatting with Alfred as they leaned out the windows of their car. "_Helvete… _Mathias, get your ass back in this car!" he yelled, rather blandly, at Mathias, who completely ignored him; it was either because he didn't care enough to listen, or because he didn't speak Norwegian. Ultimately fed up with Mathias, he leaned over, grabbed his collar, and roughly yanked him back into the car. He pulled Mathias' face close to his, glaring at him. "Don't lean out of the car you damn Dane; I'm surprised you're even stupid enough to lean out of the car, moving or not," he said, pushing him back into the seat and rolling up his window. And as if nothing happened, he picked up his coffee mug (decorated with a Norwegian flag) and sipped out of it as if nothing had happened, his left hand on the bottom of the steering wheel. Matthew managed to, with help from a few angry drivers and his own upper body strength, pull Alfred back into the car, signaled an apology to the other drivers, and drove off.

After a few more minutes in the car, Alfred blasting to a random song on the radio, they got to their oh-so-lovely high school. It was rather large school for a small military town like theirs, and was known for its athletics rather than its educational standards. Matthew parked in his designated parking spot, which wasn't too far from the school entrance, and let himself and his brother out before locking the door to their old four door car. They quickly discussed if they had things after school, which they did, and decided that Matthew would take the car home, and that Alfred would catch a ride from Mathias. After saying their goodbyes, they both walked into the school; Matthew making his way to homeroom while Alfred stood in the middle of a small hall where he was searching through his backpack.

_Of course I forgot my schedule; this happens every year! _Alfred thought to himself with a frown as he zipped his backpack up. _Now I have to go and get another one... _he sighed and walked through the double doors that revealed a large atrium-also their cafeteria-buzzing with people. Alfred turned his head to see a two long lines of people, which he assumed to be waiting for their schedule. Alfred sauntered over, pushing his way through the line until he made it to the front. A blonde was sitting at the table, which was placed in front of the line, was busily looking through a stack of yellow papers. Alfred slammed both his hands on the table and smiled widely, making the blond squeak in surprise and crush the paper in his hand. "Al! Why would you do that?" he said breathlessly, his brown eyes wide, "you know I am scared easily!"

Alfred laughed and made his way around the small table and put an arm around the teenagers shoulder. The blond was trying to smooth out the paper he crushed, apologizing multiple times to the student in front of him, who was frowning at the wrinkled paper. Alfred peered at the stacks of paper to see a kids name he didn't recognize. "Tino, dude, do you have my schedule?" he asked, thumbing aimlessly through the stack of paper. Tino looked up at him and shook his head, "no, I am taking care of the freshmen and sophomores this year!" he then smiled apologetically, "sorry, Al, but Berwald might; he has the upper class-men's schedules!"

Alfred ruffled Tino's hair and walked over to Berwald who was openly glaring at Alfred. When Alfred noticed his glare he grinned and lifted his hands, palms up, as he made his way to the table. "Don't worry, man, I just need my schedule!"

Berwald complied to his request and handed him his schedule soundlessly, his glare never ceasing. Alfred smiled nervously and took the paper from his hand, and walking backwards slowly. Tino smiled and waved warmly, while Berwald simply stared at Alfred. He signaled goodbye with a simple two fingered salute before turning and making his way to some hall upstairs; he never knew the name of the hall, but just remembered it because his girlfriend, Katyusha, was always there (for a reason he never understood). He smiled at some of his fellow classmates as they greeted him, but he kept traveling farther down the hall to greet his girlfriend.

He made it to the normal spot she was at and saw her. Her back was to him, and he spotted her immediately by her short blond hair and the baby blue over-the-shoulder purse she always had on her. (He had asked her why she always used it, and she said it was a special keepsake from a special friend.) He was about to surprise her and hug her from behind, but he then saw who she was talking to; Natalia Alfroskaya, a native Belarusian that frightened the living daylights out of Alfred. The second problem to the situation was that he knew that Natalia hated his guts, but it was only because he was dating Katyusha. It wasn't that Alfred was making the situation worse than it actually was; Natalia blatantly stated that she hated his guts.

"_Alfred, I am wanting to talk to you." Natalia glanced at Katyusha, who was pressed up to Alfred's side, "alone."_

_Alfred frowned but quickly hid it with a smile and nodded. "Uh, sure!" he said with fake enthusiasm, just so he wouldn't worry Katyusha. He let go of her waist and quickly kissed her cheek, "I'll be right back, babe! Don't miss me too much!"_

_Katyusha blushed and smiled cutely, watching as Alfred slid out the bleacher and followed Natalia. She led him to the back of the bleachers, the loud and noisy crowd cheering on the Junior Varsity football team blocking out their conversation. Alfred gulped nervously, "so, uh, what do you-"_

"_Listen stupid American, I don't like you-scratch that, I hate you. But, Katyusha seems to love you… why she does I'll never understand," she said bluntly, with a roll of her dark blue eyes. Alfred frowned slightly at her insult but kept quiet. "Anyway, I just want to get something straight between us, tak?" he nodded._

_She stepped closer to Alfred and he gulped again, feeling his hands become sweaty and clammy. She grabbed his football jersey and pulled him down so they were face to face, and Alfred felt like he would pass out just by the glare she was giving him. "Listen to me Alfred, you hurt Katyusha, and I will hurt you in more ways than you could ever imagine, got it? I will drag you to my basement, beat you until you write Katyusha an apology for even knowing her, and then I swear I find the sharpest knife I own and skin and mince you like a fucking vegetable," frightened, he nodded, blue eyes wide. _

"_Great, I'm glad we are seeing eye to eye," she said simply before walking back to the stands, Alfred on her heels._

Alfred, as much as he wanted to hug and kiss his girlfriend, decided it be best if he kept his distance from the 'super psycho' Belarusian. He quietly turned on his heels and left, glancing over his shoulder to see Natalia glaring at him. "Damn, she's one scary chick," he muttered to himself as he walked out the hallway and glanced down at his schedule for his homeroom number. _B-210_, he thought before noticing it to be the hallway next to the one he just exited. Feeling oddly proud, he made his way to his homeroom classroom where he saw a few familiar faces; _Lovino, Bella, and Lars_. The others were seniors he never talked to, so he decided to sit with those he knew. Lars and Bella-being siblings-naturally sat together, while Lovino sat alone, glaring at the whiteboard ahead of him.

_Does he always look this angry or is it just me? _Alfred thought to himself before walking to the two seater desk and sitting next to the brunette. "Hey, Lovin-" Alfred only began his greeting when Lovino turned his head, a scowl across his face. "What do you want, stupid American?"

He gave him a smile, which could be seen as a look of fake happiness and utter shock. _Okay then… looks like he's really not in a good mood. _"I just wanted to see how your summer was!" he explained quickly, as Lovino grumbled under his breath. He turned to Alfred and furrowed his eyebrows. "And why do you care so much, you bastard?"

Alfred shrugged, "I'm trying to be friendly, I guess?"

Lovino rolled his eyes and looked straight ahead again. After a few moments of awkward silence between the two, he glanced back to Alfred. "If you must know, I went back to Italy with my stupid little brother to visit my family," he explained, huffing heavily. Alfred nodded, "dude, that's cool! I've always wanted to visit Europe, but I never have the time… anyway, this summer Mattie and I-"

Lovino cut him short, glaring at him. "Did I ask what the hell you did this summer? Because I'm pretty sure I didn't, idiot, which means I really don't care." Alfred sighed and slumped in his seat. This always happened when he was talking to Lovino; he managed to start the conversation, in which Lovino called him an insulting name, but he never did get to finish it. Lovino leaned his chin on the palm of his hand, and muttered something in Italian to himself. Alfred grimaced, feeling as though the words were directed towards him, and crossed his arms over his chest. _I don't even speak Italian and I could tell that was something rude, _he thought to himself, glancing over to Lovino. _He's so… geez, I don't even know how to describe him! How do people actually talk to this guy without feeling somewhat offended?_

"Oh, Lovi~!" a cheerful, Spanish accented voice, called, making everyone seated in the room turn their head. A tanned man, named Antonio, with brunette hair and bright green eyes, stood at the entrance of the classroom, a bright smile on his face. A pink piece of paper was in one of hands, which he was waving wildly in the air. Lovino groaned and covered his face with his hands. Lovino stood and grabbed his light brown satchel-where he carried his school supplies in-and tried to avoid the cheerful Spaniard; this, of course, was a complete failure. He ran up to Lovino and wrapped his arms around him, and rocked him back and forth. "Oh, Lovi, I've missed you so much this summer! I haven't seen you in two months, since you were in Italy, mi amigo, and I was stuck here, but now we're finally seeing each-other again~!" he had tears in his eyes, and a bright smile on his face.

"Bastard, get your hands off me! And don't call me Lovi!" Lovino struggled to get himself out of Antonio's arms, but he didn't have the muscular strength to push away from him. This resulted in Antonio squeezing him tighter. "Besides, don't you need to go to homeroom? The bell's about to ring, dammit!" In the background could be the slight 'awe's' of a few girls, most of whom were a part of the schools 'photography club'; moments like these were the reason it was initially shut down.

"Oh, but we have homeroom together, Lovi~!" "Stop calling me that!" Lovino finally pushed Antonio away and angrily made his way to the back of the classroom and sat down, Antonio not too far behind. People snickered at the two's bickering, before turning their attention to their homeroom teacher, Ms. Lam (an English teacher), walked in smiling. "Welcome back!" she started, and began the tedious work of passing our forms, re-telling of school policies and all the necessary things she had to complete.

OoO

Alfred found-to his dismay-that his first day of school was uneventful; very, very uneventful. Homeroom was a complete bore, mostly due to the fact that his teacher couldn't stop talking and seemed to love the idea of ranting about how important their senior year is, and to make sure to do their absolute best during the year. After an agonizing 35 minutes with her, the bell for first period rang and they went off to their first period, Alfred's being Weightlifting with Coach O'Reilly.

Coach O'Reilly-a rather old man-had a class full of trouble makers for the year, and he was quite aware of it. Alfred, Mathias and Gilbert had made sure they got at least one class together that year, and it was luckily an elective so they could actually spend time together. (Coach O'Reilly was the Varsity soccer coach, and had dealt with Gilbert ever since his sophomore year; he knew well that the German loved to cause trouble.) He did the usual deal of documents and talking about the expectations of the class, only to be interrupted by the crinkling noise of a wrapper of some sort. And there was Alfred, stuffing his face with a granola bar with no care in the world. The Coach told him off, telling Alfred to stop eating (especially because they were exercising the entire class period) making Gilbert and Mathias smile knowingly at each-other and laugh loudly.

Alfred's next period was Advanced Gym a.k.a Gym IV, with his football coach, Coach Payne. He and Coach Payne-a young man-had known each-other since he tried out for football, and became the first freshman to make their Varsity football team. And he was quite aware of Alfred's weird quirk of eating quite a-lot. He ignored Alfred munching on whatever he managed to stuff in his pant pockets and the snickers of his two best friends-Mathias and Gilbert-and continued on with the boring class introductions. He let the class chat amongst themselves after he finished his rant and passing out the appropriate paperwork, and soon enough the bell for third period rang.

Third period was the worst period for Alfred for two _huge _reasons. One, this was math, one class he was forced to take, and he hated every second of it. Besides that, his math teacher was an old woman, Mrs. Walker, who talked in a soft and low voice, making it difficult for Alfred to hear her. Two, he had fourth lunch. _Fourth lunch_, meaning he had to wait _all period _before he could go and stuff his face with the crappy cafeteria food. Alfred quietly managed a few nibbles of his food in, but his teacher always called on _him _to go and help her pass out the paperwork and useless crap (well, he considered it useless crap anyway). Besides that, she made them actually do some math problems, despite it being the first day; Alfred found that absolutely ridiculous and quietly ranted to Emil who was sitting next to him. Alfred literally sprinted out of the class, down the stairs and to the cafeteria, where he ate two trays of cafeteria food, extras, and the food he managed to steal from the guys he sat with.

And lastly, he had Foods; a class he, quite lately, realized that wasn't all about eating the food they make, but simply how to make it. The teacher, Ms. Misa-to say nicely-was a little... off. From what he gathered-from paying little attention in class-the woman had some serious relationship issues, and spent most of the class talking about her-self than what they'd actually be learning. But, oddly enough, she didn't seem bothered by Alfred's constant eating in her class, so long as he paid attention to the rant she was giving. Alfred was seated next to Francis, who Alfred figured would be the guy who would help him pass the class. But, Alfred really wasn't as bothered by her as much as he was by Mrs. Walker.

He had football practice after school until six, but didn't mind because he enjoyed the sport. He got a ride home from Mathias, driven by Lukas, and managed to have them stop at a local fast food restaurant for him to grab dinner at. Honestly, Alfred felt as if he had a good first day of school; the second day, not so much, as he was up all throughout the night due to the larger amount of speed he had shot up right when he got home.

Alfred believed he was going to have an easy first semester, but oh, how wrong he was.

XxX

_Helvete - Hell_

_Tak - Yes_

_Mi Amigo - My friend_

A/N - Hello everyone, this is FrauWolf, and I didn't do anything this chapter, but I thought I would give some information about the story. So this is going to be USUK, eventually. It takes awhile. Arthur won't show up for another few chapters, and then it still takes awhile for the relationship to develop. Also, next chapter has them partying hard and doing all sorts of acid, so that'll be a trip. I'm working on chapter three, but don't expect the updates to be fast.

A/N - Lmaolevi -Ah, yes, the first chapter of 'Requiem'; I think, well hope, it turned out rather nicely. Let's just hope that the spaces, well page dividers, will show up unlike in the prologue. I was so pissed off because of that; it made it look so… junky, but whatever. And, there's a very big possibility I didn't write the drug scene correctly, because I don't do drugs, and wrote the scene solely based on the research I did. Also, I'm writing chapter two, so that'll be fun. Expect randomness and mistakes to be made. Oh, please drop a review or a PM about what you think about the story, I'd really appreciate it-well, we would. Also, apologies if some of the words, translations, are wrong. German is the only one I'll get correctly, and not any of these other languages.


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